The Argosy, August 1914 — page 43: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

NOBODY LOVES A LOSER. Broadway, of the prize-ring, and of his old manager, Sam Levine, had been overlaid “with a veneer of new experiences, to scratch which and reach the lower layer called for an effort he lacked incentive to make. His new associates had accepted him without question. They seemed to like him, and he reciprocated their liking. Charlie Hinkley voiced the common sentiment when he remarked: “*Tain’t no matter what a feller’s been. Mebbe Jack was a barge hand and mebbe he wasn’t. It’s. th’ way he does his work in th’ boats that counts.” He did his work well because he en- joyed it. He enjoyed it because—well, that was hard to explain. One certain thing was that the opportunity of fre- quent encounters with Jessica Hooper, who as his rescuer took a personal in- terest in his new career, was far from distasteful. And this also was something new. If he had ever done well before, it had been solely a by-product of the pleasure he took in the game. Justi- fying another’s good opinion, winning success to lay the laurels at the feet of some one else, was an incentive un- knewn before he had come to Barra- try Island. But in a past he was trying to for- get a girl had told him that “ loves a loser,” and the tremendous truth of the statement had struck him between the eyes. It will be seen that there were varied and complicated reasons why he was doing his best for Captain Zed, Underrunning trap-lines was baits: breaking, hand-tearing labor, yet there was in it a sufficient element of chance to keep interest acute. What might not the catch reveal to-day which it had not included hitherto? At the first approach two or three smal] sand-sharks were seen restlessly feeling their -way along the mesh near the surface. Captain Hooper's pass at one with a gaff being too slow, they sank from sight. Tai appearance the water was otherwise void of life. 3A nobody ~ 33 The men in the dories knew better, however. As they threw empty hand- fuls of net behind, narrowing the cubic area of the trap, they could tell by the increasing weight that there was a catch. Frightened. it had sunk to the floor of the net in a vain effort to elude the relentless enemy. About half of the lines had been under-run when Captain Zed called to the men. ‘“ Hold on a minute,” he said. Jack saw him poised at the rail of the Iaunch, gaff in hand. Presently he nade a quick thrust. ‘The surface of the water was thrashed into red foam. Herb Mann stepped to his side with an- other gaff, with which he stabbed into the center of the commotion. The struggle was fierce, but brief. The object of the athick was a great, grinning dogfish, pet aversion of the men who depend on the harvests of the deep for their daily bread. They worked it over the side of the trap, turned it adriit, and the surface of the sea resumed its oily texture. Life began to manifest itself in the narrowing confines of the net. Great, lazy flounders rose from the depths, flat and broad as the head of a barrel, nosing with unbecoming anxiety the cruel mesh. As often as one came within reach of a gaff it was pronged and lifted neatly into the launch to re- monstrate flappingly on the slimp floor. A few weakfish, gracefully formed and beautifully marked, were added to the flounders. Then Jack caught a glint of reddish brown far under the sur face. “Scup!”’ he cried to his dorymate, who passed the glad tidings -along. “Go easy there!” Captain Zed warned. ‘“‘Scup are worth money now.” As at a signal, the school, evidently a large one, gave over its restless swim- ming and settled, a dead weight, to the bottom. “Haul away,” the captain directed. “ There’s no reason why we can’t lift GomiGcdooks (C@)